Deep Dive #4: The Gift of the Silent Phone

In the kitchen of my childhood home in rural Missouri, there was a heavy wooden box mounted to the wall. It was our telephone, and for long stretches of my youth, it was remarkably quiet. It didn't "ping" or vibrate, and it certainly didn't follow me out to the barn. Back then, being "unavailable" wasn’t a choice—it was simply a fact of life.

Today, we live in an era of radical availability. We carry the world’s demands in our pockets, and we’ve mistaken "constant access" for "meaningful connection."

I remember telling a small group of parishioners that I was planning to go fishing. I told them I wanted to get way back into a quiet cove of the lake, and that I intended to leave my cell phone at home.

One person looked at me, concerned. "Don't you want to always be available in case you are needed?"

"No," I answered. The group seemed shocked, so I continued: "I am not God. Only God is always available. Sometimes I just need to be alone without interruption."

It was a firm reminder—mostly for me—of our human limitations. In the "Deep Water" of our spiritual lives, we must realize that constant availability to the world often makes us unavailable to the Father. If we are always "on call" for everyone else, we lose the capacity to hear the "still, small voice."

Jesus Himself often "withdrew to lonely places and prayed" (Luke 5:16). He intentionally made Himself unreachable to the crowds so He could be fully present with the Master.

At 77, I am finding that "hanging up the phone" is one of the most spiritual acts I can perform. Whether it’s in a hidden cove on the lake or a quiet corner of the garden, there is a sacredness in being unreachable to man so that we can be found by God.